


Canned Soup & Dating Profiles

by The_Necessity_of_Darkness



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Clueless John, Crappy Joking Surrounding Soups, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Online Dating, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petulant Sherlock, Sherlock is Clueless About Soup, Sick Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Necessity_of_Darkness/pseuds/The_Necessity_of_Darkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's lack of knowledge concerning soup was actually quite helpful. It served as a catalyst for John's departure. Now, he could finally see what John had been doing on his laptop for almost two hours...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canned Soup & Dating Profiles

I was admittedly, annoyedly distracted by John being distracted by his laptop. Whatever was on that irrelevant screen must have been something important, but it wasn't John's blog. The average writing time for one of his blog posts was only 43 minutes, but he had been sitting on that sodding computer for over an hour and a half, keyboard clicking in a way that became very irritating, very quickly.

I couldn't very well saunter over there and demand,"What have you been so invested in and consumed by for almost two hours that you haven't paid any attention to me? Adore me," so I had to settle for making my annoyance well-known in the calculated way I made a ruckus with my beakers and slides.

It seemed that if my blogger noticed any of the malice I directed at my scientific instruments, he didn't point it out. He barely even glanced at me when I dropped a beaker. I suppose he realized it was empty, and so was only slightly alarmed by the glass coating the linoleum tiles.

It was another 11 minutes later that he apparently either required my assistance or wanted to clean the shards of glass that I had petulantly left on the floor. It was clearly the former as he simply stepped over the debris.

"You may not be the best person to ask about this stuff," he started, grimacing as he stepped lightly on a splinter of the shattered beaker,"but which of these pictures looks the most...flattering?" I rose an eyebrow at his word choice, but otherwise complied and scrolled through the photos.

"Here," I said, gesturing impatiently at an image of him in his oatmeal cable-knit jumper. I had never admitted to being partial to that particular article of clothing, and decided I never would. I wouldn't admit, either, that the deep red cardigan he was wearing in the picture complemented the top very well.

John looked seemingly pleased with my decision. "I thought so," he breathed appreciatively, turning on his heel to presumably go back to his laptop. I bristled at his departure, grumbling as I looked again through my microscope.

He was writing something important, going by how many times he deleted several of the same sentences, and it surely required some form of photo attachment. This was his first time doing whatever he was doing, and he wanted to have his most flattering picture as a fallback for...something. It was an especially private something, since he wasn't sat in his normal chair. If he were, I would be able to simply read the screen.

I sighed. The only way I would be able to get a good, long look at the laptop would be to find a way for John to stay out of the flat.

Preliminary Deduction: John wouldn't leave his laptop unless the interruption held a great deal of merit.

Primary Deduction: John Watson cared for me deeply, in an unjustified way.

Supplementary Deduction: I was coming down with a cough and runny nose that was accompanied by a growing fever.

Conclusion: My illness was a suitable reason for John to leave the flat.

Clearing my throat, I shuffled to the fridge, scratching at my nose with a snuffle. It seemed John noticed my movements, and I heard him turn his head as I opened the refrigerator and scanned it, silently revelling in the fact that it was empty as planned.

"I require suitable sustenance, John," I informed with a scratchy voice, letting my fingers curl into my palms. His head bobbed in a way that indicated he heard me but chose to ignore it for the moment.

"You mean you're hungry?" he reiterated, turning to face me, obviously amused at the phrasing of my statement.

I let out a low breath. Trying to dumb it down, I repeated,"I need brainfood." I frowned at his smug smile as he moved to maneuver around the furniture to get to the kitchen.

"And since when do you care about 'sustenance'?" I was rankled by his mocking tone but ignored my immediate instinct to retort unkindly. I was positive he was merely joking, anyway.

"Since I caught a cold," I replied evenly, simply. I felt satisfied at the way his amused face quickly softened at the implications of my statement.

Gingerly, he snaked his hand up to my forehead and pressed, frowning presumably at the warmth emanating from my brow. He stood still for a moment, surely listening to my exaggeratedly ragged breathing.

He sighed. I couldn't tell if it was annoyed, resigned, or exhausted. "What do you want, then?" he asked, going to retrieve his coat from our rack.

"I would prefer soup that contains crushed tomatoes," I answered. He looked confused momentarily, which made me, admittedly, confused as well.

"So...tomato soup?" Suddenly, the title clicked, and I was sure I had, at one point during my childhood, heard of a soup referred to as such.

"Yes." He still seemed perplexed, so I indulged his questioning look. "I must have deleted the product's label once storing it in my Mind Palace became unbeneficial."

"Really, you deleted the knowledge of soup names, but still know the ingredients?" He sounded amused and confused again, a tone I found was one of his most common.

"Yes, yes," I growled, fiddling with the cuff of my sleeve. "If you'd prefer, I will refer to your soup expertise from this point onward," I said, shaking my head almost-fondly at his warm chuckle.

"I am quite talented at regaling people with tales of soup." I glared hotly at his smirk, but we both knew I wasn't actually angry. "Anyway, I'll be back in a bit with your tomato soup," he continued, accentuating both 'tomato' and 'soup', like I was some half-baked ignoramus.

"I look forward to the arrival of my soup," I smirked, enjoying the indignant look on John's face while it lasted. "Now leave before this situation becomes even more domestic, would you?"

He simply huffed before slinging on his jacket and starting for the door. "I'll be gone for a while. I plan on doing all the shopping now." With a smile he couldn't see, my eyes shifted to his laptop closed on the living room table.

"That's fine," I assured absently. I heard the close of the door, him calling a taxi, and then I set out to investigate just what had captured so much of John Watson's attention.


End file.
